


Start Reading Fairytales Again

by adjovi



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-27 08:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18735748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adjovi/pseuds/adjovi
Summary: My turn on the fix-it ride.





	1. Unfinished Stories Division

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was 99.9% sure that I was completely done writing for the Magicians following the S4 finale. In fact, the night of the finale, I had thoughts of dramatically ripping down all of my fics, very Victorian, dark and stormy night-style. I still hate it. And I’m still so damn mad. But then this fic has been spamming my brain space and I thought--why the fuck not? Writing it has been--cathartic, I guess. Made me teary while I wrote, which is a first for me. Hopeful end, I promise. :)
> 
> Title from: "One day, you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again." --C.S. Lewis, _The Chronicles of Narnia_. (bc why the fuck not?)

So, of course, all things considered and given their particular brand of luck; he really shouldn’t be surprised. And, yet. Somehow, he and Margo found themselves in a dungeon in Whitespire, three hundred years in the future. 

And, yeah. Maybe Margo needed to brush up on her diplomacy skills just a skosh. Her opening salvo to a group of angry peasants who had just informed them that a Dark King now sat the throne? 

_Lucky I’m here to unseat that motherfucker._

Needed some work. Considering. There was a prophecy. About a child of earth reclaiming the throne. And a five hundred Fillorian crown bounty. Probably a tad low. If Eliot actually gave a shit about such things. But he was completely out of shits to give.

He sat against the wall on the cold, damp floor, vaguely aware of the aching throb in his side. Most of the pain, however, came from the ever-present grief he could barely breathe around. He clutched at his fucking cane, holding himself upright, not even bothering to try and focus on anything else. Margo, apparently, had other things on her mind, pacing back and forth in the small cell.

“Five hundy? We’re worth a measly five hundred crowns? Cheap ass bag of shit. Jesus Christ.” She came to a stop in front of him, crouching down so as to make eye contact. She snapped in his face. “Eliot. _Fuck_. We need to make a plan. And, you need to get out of your fucking head--”

He felt his mouth crack open at this. “Bambi.” His eyes fluttered closed; well of tears rising up. Things had happened so quickly. Well, probably not for the others, but Eliot had barely any time between the thrill of waking _in his own body_ , injured as it was. But so very his own. And, then. Funny how the joy of being alive quickly turned to wanting to be _anything_ but. His entire world ending. Even though he was nowhere near physically ready, he couldn’t get away fast enough. So, he followed Margo to Fillory, trying to outrun the ashes. And, here they were. In prison. Figures this would be his first real chance to rest. 

Margo was apparently taken aback by what she saw on his face. Or, precisely. The lack thereof. She sank fully to the ground, legs curled beneath her. Leaning forward, she placed a hand on his knee. “Hey.” She ducked her head. “Eliot. Look. I know you are hurting. So am I. I lost him, too.” 

_Not the same._ He turned his face away, staring at the cracks in the brickwork. 

She blew out a long breath. “And, now, we’ve no idea what happened to Josh and--Jesus. Fen? And, we are fucked three ways to Thursday by some twat-daddle Dark King--and--” She shook her hand on his knee. “Fuck, Eliot.” He continued his fastidious study of the wall, refusing to turn. “Hey, asshole. I need you.”

Eliot swallowed thickly, then took a deep breath, swiveling his head to look at Margo. The words, they were just there. Right behind his mouth. He felt the need to confess; he’d _earned_ that at least. Hadn’t he? “Oh, God.” Tears started streaming down his face, unbidden. 

And, Margo’s chin was doing that wobble thing that always, _always_ , did him in. 

“I fucked up, Bambi. I fucked it all up.” That's all it took for the invisible wall to finally come crashing down. All in a whisper, barely heard over the rushing in his ears. But he confessed. Of a lifetime together, of love, of family. Of running away. Of no second chances. 

“Fucking hell, Eliot.” Her voice was thick with tears, and she was giving him a look of such naked pity that he couldn’t meet her eyes. “You never told me.”

He took in a shaky breath. “I never told _anyone_.” Never even got a chance to tell _him_. He twisted his hands around the smooth wood of his cane, the burn giving him focus. 

“Well, fuck.” She threw her head back. “I honestly don’t know what to say. I mean, first things first-- we get the hell out of here. And back to our-time earth. And maybe you could try and Orpheus and Eurydice his ass out of the Underworld?” 

He just stared and her, trying to remain emotionless, but failing given the pointed eye-roll.

“Jesus, El. Did you ever like _read_ an actual book?” 

He rolled his own damn eyes. He wasn’t an idiot; he was just smart enough that he could get by with the barest minimum of effort.

“So epic quest--Orpheus’s love of his life dies, he goes to the Underworld to try and guide her out?” Margo shrugged. “It’s all very tragic and romantic. Very on brand for you.”

“Sounds like something I’d definitely fuck up.” He turned to study the far wall again, his voice going low. Hard not to lean into that doubt once again. Now, it was all he had. The architect of his own self-fulfilling prophecy. “Besides. I might not be his spirit guide of choice.” 

Margo threw her hands up, letting them slap against her sides. He knew she was frustrated, trying to get him to pay attention. “Well, won’t that be a lovely problem to ponder. Once we get our fucking asses out of here.” 

There was the sudden whoosh-pop of someone traveling in. Eliot was having a hard time reconciling what he was seeing. Penny, but in the funereal gray suit of the Library. “Penny?” Apparently, Margo was as confused as he. “ _Our_ Penny?” She stood slowly, warily regarding him.

“S’up, Margo.” He grinned and nodded at her; clearly happy to see them. Eliot was pretty sure he never saw Penny smile other than in sarcasm. Penny nodded down at him. “Eliot.” 

“Jesus Christ on a fucking cracker, please say you’re here to rescue us.” Margo’s eyes were wild, hands on her hips. Ever the High King.

Penny held his hand out to Eliot; helping him up. He accepted, then immediately regretted, considering the white hot spike of pain in his side the movement caused. He sucked in a deep breath. Penny eyed him cautiously. “You ok?”

Eliot bit back the retort _never better_ , a bit too fucking glib for all of this, and merely glared. 

Penny gave him a small nod then stepped back, regarding Margo. “So. I’m not here to rescue you, _per se_. Actually. I’m not here to rescue you at all. Not my gig. Besides, I read your book.” He smiled at her, sincerely and with a bit of pride. “You have a whole ass kingdom to get back on track, your majesty.” He gave her a small bow. She threw back her head and squared her shoulders; _motherfucking right_. Penny turned to look directly at Eliot. “Anyways. I’m here because boss lady’s looking for you.” 

Eliot gripped his cane tightly, trying but failing to stand completely straight, pain lancing down his side. “Me?” 

Margo cut her hand down sharply. “Wait? Are we playing nice with the Library now?”

Penny just shrugged and gave a wry smile. “Under new management.” He refocused on Eliot. “So. Yeah, you. Special mission.” He tilted his head to the side. “Call it a quest, if you’re nasty.” 

Eliot gestured with one hand at his cane. “Well, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’m not exactly at my fighting weight these days.” 

“Oh, right.” Penny reached into his breast pocket, pulling a small vial of a clear liquid. He held it out towards Eliot. “Here.”

Eliot scoffed. “Yeah. We don’t have the best track record with little bottles full of liquid.”

Penny shook the bottle. “Made a pit stop on the way. It’s from Chatwin’s Torrent. Take it.”

Eliot waited for the _dumbass_ comment that never came. Maybe their Penny had softened in death. Last he’d heard, Penny had been a dick to the Torrent guy, so maybe that was a good thing? Still, he found it--unsettling. He held his hand out for the bottle, drinking it down in one go. It was an odd sensation--skin knitting together, nerve endings healing. It wasn’t unpleasant, just weird. He twisted at the waist, having full range of motion restored, then stretched his arms above his head. He already missed needing the cane to lean onto. 

Penny just watched him sedately. Observing. “All good?” 

Eliot stood and swallowed thickly, giving himself some space before nodding. “So, quest?”

Penny rolled his shoulders a bit, and Eliot could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “So, not to humble brag or anything, but I recently got promoted. Small, elite team. Not much action, typically, but when we do--well. Big shit.” He smiled almost _indulgently_ at Eliot, and wasn’t that fucking confusing. “Unfinished Stories Division.” 

Eliot felt Margo take a step closer to him, but his eyes remained fixed on Penny. 

“So, the last time this unit had a case was almost a century ago. Big story--unrequited love. Romeo and Juliet next level star-crossed bullshit. You get the picture.” He waved his hand, wrapping up the not story. “Well. Gotta admit didn’t do wonders for my rep that I was the new guy, there like a few _days_ , and suddenly caught _the_ case of the century. But, just so turned out that a _client_ from my last gig--”

Eliot shook his head. “I’m sorry--what in the actual fuck--”

Margo stepped up, putting a hand on his arm and squeezing. “El.” Her voice was stern and full of something he couldn’t place. “Let him finish.” 

Penny tilted his head _ok by you?_ and Eliot nodded _by your fucking leave_. “Right, like I said, in my last gig--”Secrets Taken to the Grave”, anyways.” 

Something in that, in the way he said it. Something _dropped_. At the _look_ Eliot pinned him with, Penny just chuckled.

“Not like I can tell _you_ anything about that, man. Anyways. This client, uh. Well, let’s just say the boss lady took a _particular_ interest and read his book. And, associating books. And, well. After doing that. She opened a ticket. And, assigned it to me, seeing as I was his Secrets guy. Forever assuring my pariah status on the team, but, hey.” He spread his hands out wide. 

“Holy shit.” Margo held his arm in a vice grip. Penny fucking _winked_ at her. 

Eliot’s throat felt thick, like he couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t sure he completely understood while at the same time had perfect fucking clarity. But, he couldn’t allow himself to lean into this, not even for a second, to even try reading between the lines--

Penny just continued on, regarding him sedately. No biggie. Not like he was undoing the very fabric of reality around him. “So. The thing was--it was totally against protocol. But like, when the guy first came down, I offered him cocoa. I mean--that part? Was protocol. But then made sure to tell him not to drink it.” He waited a few beats for this to sink in. “So.” 

Margo took in a deep breath, almost like a sob mingled with a laugh. Eliot--wasn’t tracking, his confusion apparently evident. Margo shook her head, looking at Eliot first, then back to Penny. She had to calm herself a little before speaking, clearing her throat. “Trust this dumbass doesn’t get the reference.” 

Penny blew out a breath. “Yeah, well, I wish _I_ had got the reference. Eat one piece of Debra’s cake in the break room; doomed for eternity.” He just shrugged again easily, looking back at Eliot. “So. You in?”

Eliot’s throat felt dry. He opened his mouth a few times. “I--I don’t. What even--” He took in a shaky breath. “Why me?” 

Margo’s voice, sweet as honey, without any irony whatsoever. That in and of itself was _terrifying_. “Oh, baby. Isn’t it obvious?”

And. Maybe it was. But also completely wasn’t. Because this was very clearly a _moment_ , but also. Why _him_?

Penny gave him a small, enigmatic smile. “Boss lady.” Which, in some ways was just the right side of inadequate that could be convincing in how little and much it revealed.

What did he have to lose at this point? “Yeah?”

Penny raised an eyebrow. “That a question?” 

Eliot turned towards Margo, seeking her assurance. Her eyes were closed, and her chin. The wobble thing. But she finally looked at him; strong with resolve. “Go, El.” Another long shaky breath, making her voice stern again. Like a motherfucking king. “But, you better come back to me, you miserable jackass.” 

Penny didn’t wait for a further response, clapping him on the shoulder and blinking them out.


	2. The New Reformed Order of the Neitherlands Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just--bear with me here, ok?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There is an implied suicide reference in this chapter. It's oblique, but there is a mention.

The Neitherland’s Library always had a weird lighting situation, like washed through an Insta filter set to “lo fi”. They were in a long hallway, not unlike in a courthouse; the walls lined with wooden benches. 

Penny clapped Eliot on the shoulder, concern in his eyes. “You ok, man?” 

He swallowed thickly, then briefly closed his eyes. “Yep.” The lie came easily. He twitched his fingers, aching for a cigarette. Most likely banned. 

“She’s expecting you.” Penny pointed at a heavy wooden door with an engraved plaque announcing _Co-head Librarian_.

Eliot blew out a long breath. Now or never. He rapped his knuckles against the door, which was met with a muffled _Come in_. And, really, Eliot should have seen this coming. Truly, if he had any room to consider. Still. His knees definitely buckled at the sight of Alice Quinn, hair all Betty Paged as per the Library’s _why not lean into an obvious kink_ cleverness. “Hi, Eliot. Have a seat.”

Eliot stared at her for a good long minute, clutching the doorway, before shooting a glare back at Penny who just shrugged. He patted his jacket pocket, pulling out his never-ending flask and shaking it in Alice’s direction. “This ok?”

Alice rolled her eyes. “No. But get in here anyways.” 

He shut the door behind him, sliding into the overstuffed wingback. The leather groaned as he sat, and he took a long pull of his flask. “So.” 

She folded her hands primly over the rather surprisingly _messy_ desk. Alice never seemed like she would tolerate a mess, hair always stick-straight and everything in its right place. But, she had loved Quentin. The thought stuck in his throat, and he found it hard to swallow. “How are you?” Her voice was way softer than he expected.

It took him a little while to get his composure, and then, not even, really. He licked at the corner of his mouth and took a deep shaky breath, eyeing the room . He wasn’t fooling anyone. “Head Librarian, huh?”

“ _Co_ -Head.” He could feel her studying his face for a long moment; eyebrows drawn with concern. He could tell her where she could shove her fucking pity. But, then--he remembered. She was grieving as well. He forced himself to meet her eyes. “Do you know why you’re here?”

All Eliot could manage was swallowing thickly before shaking his head.

She gave him the tiniest smile, blue eyes flashing behind thick lenses. Eliot was reminded of just how beautiful she was. “You need to go and see Q.” His heart was thudding in his ears, and he had to struggle to pay attention. The way his head swam, buzzy and unfocused. “We found a way. Well, rather a _loophole_ , as it were. An ‘Unfinished Story’. And, being Co-Head of the Library, such calls are at my discretion, apparently. And so--” She sort of trailed off, catching on that maybe Eliot wasn’t all there at the moment. 

He just stared and stared. Then, his brain finally caught up to his heart and he gulped another breath. “Alice, honey.” He leaned forward, gripping the side of her desk with one hand. “Don’t you think that should be _you_?”

She looked down abruptly, eyes wide and suspiciously glassy. She slowly licked her lips before dragging her eyes up to meet Eliot’s. “That’s uh--” She took a deep breath herself. “Um. Eliot. See.” She threw her head back and closed her eyes. “God. Ok. I need to get this out, ok?”

Something twisted in Eliot’s chest, high and tight, like he was watching a mirror parody of his own agony. “Yeah.” He hated the way his voice broke; how clearly she noticed. 

She smoothed her hands over the pile of messy papers her desk, before bringing them together again, folded as if in prayer. “I know this won’t make sense right away, but, just. Bear with me. Please.”

He nodded, taking another sip from his flask. 

“The thing is, I never truly belonged. Not in my whole life.” 

_Poor little magic girl_. 

He hated himself a little more for allowing the thought to surface.

“My family? I wasn’t. I mean, there was Charlie. But then--” The grief, while not as raw, was still right there, right on surface. “He’s why I came to Brakebills; to try and save him. Did you know that?”

He knew. Quentin had--well. They’d talked about all of them, at some point along the line. 

“I hated magic. _Hated_. It destroyed every good thing in my life.” She tilted her head to the side, eyes wistful. “Then I met Q. And fuck, he _loved_ magic. Like, he was in genuine _wonder_ of it. It was hard not to fall for that, just a little. Fall for him.”

Didn’t _he_ fucking know it.

“Anyways, I never belonged. And that’s why--when we--broke up. Why it hurt so much. Because I knew I was never more to any of you than Q’s girlfriend. It wasn’t like we were friends.”

Eliot did wince at this--remembering a conversation with Margo along these same lines after _Alice_ had--. Fucking Christ he was so done with death.

She opened her hands wide. “I was so angry and hurt for so long. And, so very alone.” She bit her bottom lip. “And, I fucked up with the keys, ok. I know I did.” At this, she looked back at him. She paused a little, making him uneasy. “I didn’t know, Eliot. I had no idea, ok?”

She had him up to there, so he shook his head tightly in confusion, not liking where this was headed. 

“We had both--Jesus. He was basically running on fumes by that point. Not even. And so, when he came to me, finally, wanting to be friends.” She shrugged. “I mean, that’s what our friendship had been, really. I mean, briefly, maybe? We were just friends once. But I don’t think either of us remembered what that was like.”

Eliot blinked slowly, wondering why she was putting herself through this gauntlet of self condemnation. Was she looking for contrition from _him_? 

“I’m just explaining this, because--” The corner of her mouth curved upwards. “I belong _here_ , Eliot. I’m making a difference. I’m falling back in love with magic.” She frowned, looking down. “And, if I were just Q’s _girlfriend_ \--I? I don’t know, actually. And, I miss him every second of every single day.” She took in a shaky breath. “But, I know I’m meant to be here. What my purpose is. Where I _belong_. But, you?”

She brushed the papers off of the books she had obviously been hiding. His eyes went wide when he saw what they were. 

“So. You see.” She lightly drummed her fingers over the leather-bound covers. “I read them. Both.”

Eliot felt completely exposed. Of course, intellectually, he knew their books existed. But it was very different when faced with the reality that your ex’s _ex_ , maybe, kind of, knew all of your deepest darkest shit. Not even Quentin got to be that extra. 

“I started with Q’s. I had only ever read, like, the end. Before. And not even _the_ \--” Her voice broke a little. “You have to know, Eliot. I don’t know if the others, if Julia told you. But he was _not ok_ for a very long time. Broken. Only, I don’t think anyone really knew why. He would’ve let that Thing--” She swallowed, blinking fast. “Anyways. I read his book, and finally began to understand. Then, I knew I needed to read yours.”

Eliot tongued the back of his teeth, looking away from her. Anywhere else.

“Eliot.” She _beseeched_ him, really there was no other word for it. “I didn’t know, ok? No one did. But.” She was quiet for a moment, he could feel her eyes on his face. The only sound the insipid cat clock above her head whose eyes ticked back and forth. Back and forth. “Eliot. _Please_.”

At this, the broken _please_ ; he dragged his gaze back to her. 

“You know, I came to him at first to warn him. That he was going to--I’d read the end of his book. Well, one ending.” She sighed. “And at that point, he thought _you_ were dead. And, Eliot. He didn’t care that he was about to die. It was like it didn’t matter. I should’ve--Jesus. No one was paying enough attention to realize-- Not even Julia, or Margo. Not even me.”

At this, Eliot did let out a little sob.

“So.” She closed her eyes briefly and let out a huff of a breath. “Do you see? Why it _has_ to be you? You need to _tell_ him, Eliot.”

He looked away for a long beat, trying to gather his thoughts, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him anymore than it already did. Hell. She knew all of his secrets at this point anyways. “Are you expecting me to play Orpheus to his--Euripides?”

“Eur _ydice_. And, have you actually read it?” And, there was the Alice Quinn patented haughtiness that set him more at ease then her gentle sympathy could ever do. “Didn’t exactly have a happy ending.”

His heart was hammering in his chest. “And this story? Expecting a happy ending?”

She smoothed her hands along her skirt, shaking her head once. “No. It’s.” She breathed in deep. “You get to visit him. But--he’s gone, Eliot. Moved on. There’s--”

He shook his head, anger sluicing through the misery. “Then what’s the fucking point, Alice? What is this?”

Her face did that thing where she clearly was trying not to cry and gave a brave little smile instead. “A chance to say goodbye. A chance to give him some peace. A chance to finish his story.”

“What if I decide to stay there?” He was playing with fire, knew it, but this was all so ridiculously unfair. 

And, there’s the fucking pity again. “You won’t be able to. The spell that lets you in pulls you back out.” She startled a little at what she saw on his face. “And, don’t even think about trying to--you know he’d _hate_ that. He fought so long to get you back.” 

He knew she was right, but in that moment, God. He’d be lying if he didn’t think about it at least once an hour. She probably read that in his book, as well. He took in another sobbing breath, hands over his eyes. But he nodded, resigned. “What do I have to do?”

She pushed a box of tissues across the desk towards him. She reached into a drawer, pulling out a small vial of what looked like blood. “I have to anoint you with this.”

He pulled his eyebrows together. “Is that--”

“His? Yeah.” She looked at the vial for a long moment. “Turned out, he made some dumbass trade with a candy witch to try and save us once.”

Eliot nodded in recognition. “Yeah, Q was always low key afraid she would eventually get him with her witchy ways.”

“Right. Well, luckily for us she had a vendetta against her ex--the Great Cock of the Darkling Woods. So, she traded this for a tail feather.” The way she said it, so easy breezy, had Eliot thinking it had been anything but. 

And, right there. As if he hadn’t already been previously convinced that their lives were beyond weird. Somehow the fly in the fucking logic ointment was the moment his ex’s _ex_ bargained with a gingerbread lady by swindling her ex. Who was, in fact, a giant talking peacock. With an enviable sense of flair. _But of course_. A hysterical giggle escaped. 

She snorted in surprise. Then, all business again, she reached back into the desk, pulling out a small hourglass. She walked around to hand it to him. “When you find him, this will start keeping time. When your time is nearly up, it'll get warm.” She eyed him nervously. “Are you ready?” 

He nodded once. 

“Um, can you--” She pointed at his collar, making a swirling gesture so that he would remove his tie and unbutton his shirt. She began to chant in Arabic, uncorking the vial and painting first his collarbones, throat, cheeks, forehead. Ending with a swipe above each eye. He figured he must look like a horror show, but as she finished the incantation, he glanced down at his colllarbones, watching the blood glow and then disappear into his skin. She placed a hand over both shoulders, oddly intimate, for the two of them, and bent to look him in the eyes. “You have to tell him, Eliot. Be brave.” 

At that, he did take in a long fortifying breath. “I will.” 

“Listen to what Penny says to you. Follow his instructions to the letter, you hear me?” She would have made a good teacher. Probably will make her an excellent Librarian. “Tell him--” She broke his gaze briefly, but then fluttered her eyes back towards him. “Tell him everything.”


	3. The Valley of Death

Penny was waiting for him in the hall. “Ready to go?” He pushed off the wall he was leaning on as soon as Eliot came out of Alice’s office. 

All Eliot could manage was a silent nod. 

“Here--give 'em this.” Penny held out a small, white plastic card. It looked like a hotel room key, but blank.

Eliot shook his head. “What is it?”

Penny gave him an enigmatic smile. “He’ll know what to do.” And, as an afterthought, almost. “Don’t forget to mention he never drank the hot chocolate.”

“What is it about the damn cocoa?” Eliot had brain space dedicated to knowing Ina Garten’s husband name was Jeffrey and when Tim Gunn made a suggestion during critiques you’d better fucking listen and _make it work_. Apparently nada for hot beverages in the Underworld. 

“He’ll get the reference. Just don’t forget, ok?” Penny clapped him on the shoulder. “Alice tell you the deal with the hourglass?” 

He nodded again. 

“Well, I guess that’s it. You ready?” Penny was watching him carefully.

Eliot closed his eyes, breathing in and out. He looked back at Penny. “Yeah.”

“Then, you just have to go through that door.” He pointed behind Eliot.

 _Of course_. It was the door to their cabin.

***

Eliot thought he was ready, or as ready as he could be, considering. But. As the door squeaked open--the humid Fillorian air always made the wood swell and the hinges catch-- _their son_ was the first to turn and greet him. Teddy was maybe five years old, sitting in between Quentin and Arielle on their patchwork quilt. “Papa!” He made grabby hands towards Eliot. 

Eliot, completely off balance, swayed back into the door frame, stumbling a little. Quentin had hopped up, throwing his arms wide and embracing him, holding him steady. “Eliot? What are you doing here?”

Eliot couldn’t speak, just tucked Quentin under his chin, where he always fit _just_ so. He was shaking, and Quentin was rubbing a soothing palm between his shoulder blades. Arielle had stood as well, coming up on his side. “Hi there.” Her large blue eyes were sparkling with laughter, always like there was this hilarious joke he had just missed. And. He _ached_ at the sight of her. 

Teddy was clinging to her side, begging to be picked up, so she did, easily passing him into Eliot’s arms as if it were nothing. As if it weren’t _everything_. He kept Quentin tucked into his side, the crown of Teddy’s head bumping up against his chin. Of course this would be Quentin’s version of the afterlife, surrounded by family. Teddy’s hand slid onto his throat, just resting there, his other thumb going into his mouth. Abruptly, he leaned back with eyes wide, popping his thumb from his mouth. “Papa, you have a heart.”

And that, well. That’s what breaks the silence. He looks down at Quentin. “Yeah buddy. Turns out, I’m still alive in here. And, I really, really need to talk to daddy.” 

Confusion clouded Quentin’s face. “El? But how--” He stepped back a bit to get a better look at him; Eliot missed that familiar weight immediately.

Eliot sighed. “I have so much to tell you. And not a lot of time.” He glanced over at Arielle who was watching with knowing eyes. She reached over to take Teddy back, but not before allowing Eliot the chance to kiss Teddy's forehead. 

“See you later, Quentin. Wave bye to papa.” Arielle ran a hand over Eliot’s forehead, fingers lingering on his cheek. “I’ll be seeing you.” Then, they both disappeared.

He spun in a small circle. “Where’d they go?”

Quentin just chuckled. “It’s just like that. You can visit with whomever you want, providing they’re here. I’ve spent time with my dad. Met my maternal grandmother. I even got to see my childhood dog.”

“Indy?” Eliot was inordinately happy to hear that Pastor O’Reilly had been _wrong_ about that particularly devastating piece of catechism. He had told Eliot, who had been eight-years-old and grieving over the loss of his favorite dog, Bucky, that pets didn’t have souls and so couldn’t go to heaven. Pastor O’Reilly could fuck himself. 

“Yep!” Quentin smiled that full dimpled smile. The one that always did Eliot in. He nodded to the card still clutched in Eliot’s hand. 

Eliot handed it over wordlessly. Waiting.

“What is it?” Quentin turned the white plastic card over in his hands before looking up at Eliot.

Eliot shrugged. “No idea. Penny just told me you’d know what to do with it.”

“Great.” Quentin held the card up to his forehead. “So, like psychic paper or something?” He frowned, looking at the card. No change.

Psychic paper. Of course Quentin’s nerdy brain would supply that. Eliot was suddenly struck by a memory of a rainy afternoon stuck inside their cabin, playing the never ending game of fuckable celebrities. He’d admitted David Tennant _did_ things for him. To his surprise, Quentin had readily agreed. _Who wouldn’t want to fuck a Timelord_? Eliot felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards almost to a smile.

Quentin chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Still a nerd even in death.”

And at that reminder, Eliot felt all the words dry up in his mouth. He closed his eyes and took in a shaky breath.

Quentin noticed the immediate change and grabbed at his hand, pulling him towards their small bench. The bench that Quentin had grieved for his wife on. The bench that Eliot had regaled their son with stories of the girl named Buffy who could fight monsters. The bench that, as old men, they would rest their weary bones while sharing tea and the comfort of just being together. 

They both sat, and Quentin immediately took one of Eliot’s hands in both of his own. “How are you here?”

Eliot took a long breath in through his nose. “Alice sent me.” At Quentin’s little chuckle of surprise, he tilted his head. “She’s Co-Head Librarian.”

Quentin squeezed his hand, his eyes doing that crinkling thing in the corners. “Why doesn’t this surprise me in the least?”

At that, Eliot did chuckle a little. “Well, it was a surprise for me.” He swallowed thickly. “So, apparently, Penny, _our_ Penny--” Quentin nodded encouragingly. “He was the one who led you here?”

“Yeah.” Quentin’s face was doing something complicated, and Eliot felt his heart turn in his chest.

“Well, apparently he got promoted from listening to secrets, or whatever, and now works in “Unfinished Stories”. He shifted a little, the bench always was a bit pokey, and straightened out a leg. He forced himself to look at Quentin who was just watching him. He shrugged. “Well, Alice read our books, apparently.”

At that, Quentin did flinch. But remained silent, giving Eliot the space he needed.

“Decided you qualified. That I should--there’s something I need to tell you, Q. It’s--” And Jesus fuck his eyes suddenly welled with tears; his chest heavy and thick. 

Quentin squeezed his hand again, thumbs circling the back. “It’s ok, El. You can tell me anything. You know this.”

 _Be brave_. “Right. _God_ , Q--I.” A sob escaped and one of Quentin’s hands came up to rub his back. Always providing comfort, even now. Eliot closed his eyes for a brief moment, steeling himself. “I’m so sorry, Q.”

“Eliot, I never blamed you. That _Thing_? I never thought it was _you_.” 

Eliot shook his head in protest and let out a loud sigh. “That’s not--I mean. Yeah. Ok. I’m sorry about that, too. But that’s not--” His head dropped down, but he forced himself to look back up at Quentin. He owed him that much. So much more. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

Quentin’s eyes were wide. “Lied? About what?”

And, despite his best efforts to just _keep it the fuck together, Waugh_ , Eliot began to cry. Once he started, he found he couldn’t stop, Quentin rubbed the back of his neck, fingers sinking into the curls at the nape. Eliot tried to calm himself a bit. He was, after all, on a clock. “Q. When you asked me to give us a shot? I _lied_. I pushed you away because I thought I had to. Rip off the bandaid. Because, I thought--there, in the real world, where there was-- _Alice_? You would never choose me.”

At that, Quentin did pull back a bit, snatching his hand from Eliot’s neck. He still held Eliot’s hand in his other, though. “You never even gave us a chance, Eliot.”

Eliot just nodded, closing his eyes and feeling a tear snake its way down his cheek and across his nose. “I was an asshole. I was scared, Q.”

Quentin reached over, brushing off the tear. “Of what?”

“Of believing someone so _good_ and _true_ as you could ever really love someone like me.” At that, he bent over, taking hiccuping breaths, one hand over his face. Way to stick the landing. He angrily swiped at his eyes between his thumb and forefinger. “And I tried, Q. I tried to fall out of love with you. I sent you on a fucking quest, just to--” He glanced over at Quentin, who looked on the verge of tears as well. “But then, you had to go and be the goddamned hero and sacrifice yourself at Blackspire, and I _couldn’t_ \--” Fuck. The dam had truly broken. “I couldn’t imagine living in a world without you.” The last words were said through sobs. “And, it's as _awful_ as I’d imagined. Worse.” He bent over again, just allowing the tears to flow. 

All the while, Quentin kept a firm grip on his hand, silently offering comfort. When Eliot finally got a little control back, he swiped at his nose. “And, I know you’ve moved on. But, I needed you to know. That I _never_ stopped loving you.”

Quentin was giving him a strange, fond smile. His voice was but a whisper. “And, I thought _I_ was the fool.” He tugged on Eliot’s hand. “You spectacular, idiotic bastard.”

And, that--wasn’t exactly what Eliot had been expecting to hear. He sat up straighter, wiping at his eyes again.

Quentin gave him a real, full smile. “What do you think was my secret I took to the grave?”

Eliot immediately jumped in to protest. “Penny didn’t tell me--”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Like I would've told _Penny_.” He shook his head, then took a deep breath, eyes going soft. “I’m in love with you, dumbass. I never stopped, either. And, God knows I tried.”

Eliot’s mind was filled with static; white noise drowning everything else. 

Quentin shook Eliot’s hand in his. “Look. Things were really terrible for a really long time. And, by the end?” Tears began to spill down his cheeks, and now Quentin was the one to angrily swipe them away. “I thought I lost you so many times, El. And I was _sure_ we weren’t going to get you back. God.” He threw his head back, but then looked back at Eliot. ‘But not for one second did I stop loving you.” 

And, because, he was _always_ the brave one, Quentin reached over and gently placed a hand on the back of Eliot’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. It wasn’t a great kiss, if Eliot was being honest. He could barely breathe because of the crying, and it was desperate and messy. But, that’s also what made it perfect. They pulled apart, breathless, foreheads resting against each other. 

Quentin flicked his eyes open, staring into Eliot’s. “I love you, dumbass.”

To which, really, all Eliot could do was smile. “I love you, always.” And, something began to warm in his pocket and _oh shit_. “Oh shit!” He pulled the hourglass out, and it was definitely warm. Only a small amount of sand was left. He sat back, holding it up to show Quentin. Frenzied, a thought wormed itself to the front of his brain. “Oh fuck. The--the cocoa!” 

Quentin face did that adorable confused scrunched up thing. “Cocoa?”

“Yeah--um. Penny’s cocoa? He said you didn’t drink it. I needed to remind you of that.” Eliot’s heart was hammering in his chest; so little time. Why did it have to be so little time?

“Huh.” Quentin’s mouth quirked up, as if something was dawning on him. “You’re right. I didn’t.” 

“What does _that_ mean?” Confusion was warring with wanting to pull Quentin into his body, every inch chanting _forever forever forever_.

But, Quentin, with a fond look that Eliot knew meant _you’re an idiot, but I love you anyways_ , tugged at the back of his neck. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

And Eliot leaned in to meet him.

***

There was no fanfare or anything. Just. Eliot blinked into the hallway of the Library, seated on one of those long benches. He tried to take a breath, but he was doing that silent scream thing that toddlers do when they fell down, ramping up for the giant sobs. In place of his heart was a sucking chest wound he found impossible to breathe around. And then, he _wept_. 

He had no idea he how long he had sat there, in abject, painful misery. But, as he took in deep breaths, trying to steady himself, he became aware that sensible heels were clacking towards him. She probably wanted to give him a chance to get himself together. Alice sat next to him on the bench, gently nudging his leg with a box of tissues, holding a bottle of water out to him. They sat in silence for a full minute. “So. It worked.”

“What the fuck, Alice?” His voice was absolutely shredded. “ _Why_? What was the point?” 

“You give him the card?” 

He glanced at her through watery eyes. She was sitting ramrod straight, not looking at him. "Yes. What was it?"

“A metro card.” 

“A metro card? It was blank. Q thought it was psychic paper or something” 

The corners of her mouth turned up at that, and yeah. They both loved their supernerd. For the first time, instead of jealousy, Eliot was fucking grateful that she had been there for Quentin. That someone had, in the end. She turned to face him. “You remind him about the cocoa?”

At that, he threw his hands up. “What 's the deal with the fucking cocoa?”

She did smile a little at him, gentle and soft. “In the Underworld, if you eat or drink anything, then you can never come back."

His rabbit heart started hammering in his chest. “Come back?”

Her smile grew a bit wider, going all the way up to her eyes. “The metro card was a return fare.”

He tried several times to gain the ability to speak, but all he could do was sputter a bit. When he finally regained his voice, it was strained. “Return?” 

She nodded at him.

“Then why not just tell him?” He shook his head in confusion. “Why all the cloak and dagger? If he could just come back--”

“You couldn’t just tell him. There _are_ rules.” She took in a deep breath. “He has to decide on his own that he _wants_ to come back.”

Eliot swallowed down a scream of frustration. “But that’s--” He ran a hand over his face. “What if it takes him _sixty_ years to figure that out?”

Alice tilted her head to the side, considering. “Well--” Then her eyes went wide, tracking something behind him.

He turned his head to see, looking back at her to confirm. And held his breath, taking her hand, as they both silently watched the red digital dial above the elevator move from "U", up through seven floors as it inched its way to one, past a _mezzanine_ , before coming to a stop on "L".

A female robotic recording announced “Lobby” just as the elevator door opened with a ping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being along for the ride. If I had to guess and they brought Quentin back in any capacity, it would be something of a cliffhanger like this. But, I am bad at guessing, so YMMV. 
> 
> This was a real rough one to write. Hope you enjoyed--please let me know if you did. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are love. Thanks for reading. :)
> 
> Hopefully the muse will stay bitten, but definitely will be veering in AU territory from here on out.


End file.
